


Blue Christmas

by Reis_Asher



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet, Christmas, Christmas Presents, Emotional Baggage, Established Relationship, Family, M/M, Misunderstandings, No Sex, Post-Canon, Sad, Trauma, Wishes, child androids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21961858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reis_Asher/pseuds/Reis_Asher
Summary: Connor makes a miscalculation with his Christmas present that almost ends the fledgling relationship between him and Hank.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45





	Blue Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: I hope you don't need your heart, because I'm going to tear it out, put it back in, and haphazardly stitch up the wound I leave behind.
> 
> Warnings: It's sad, it deals with past trauma, child death, and the effects of the android revolution on Connor. It has a happy ending in that they stay together but it's also kinda bittersweet? There's no sex.

Connor knew it was going to be a bad day the second he walked into Hank's house to find the Christmas tree was gone. He'd spent all of last night decorating it, only to find it had disappeared while he'd been at work. He used his scanners to follow the trail, and found pine needles along with brushed pile carpet where the tree had been dragged to the front door. He turned on his heel and stepped back outside, where it was steadily raining, droplets of cold rain hitting the pavement. A quick investigation at the side of the house revealed the tree, ornaments and lights still on it, had been unceremoniously dumped into a trashcan.

_"It's my first Christmas,"_ Connor had said. _"I want to celebrate it, Hank."_

_"If you insist."_ Hank had grumbled, but he hadn't complained that much, and Connor had brought home the tree, grateful Hank hadn't vetoed the idea.

Connor recognized the feeling that flooded his circuits now as sadness. The tree was unsalvageable, the little angel on top drenched and muddied, her porcelain face shattered. Connor had to look away from her, tears welling up in his eyes. He went back into the house.

"Hank?" But of course, Hank wasn't home. Connor had known that from the lack of footprints leading back to the house. Hank had left—in a hurry, from the looks of things—but hadn't returned. He was likely at Jimmy's Bar, but Connor wasn't going downtown to chase Hank. Not tonight. Not when he was still so—so _angry_.

Hank could have voiced his protest at any time. He could have told Connor he wasn't ready to celebrate Christmas, could have told him the holiday reminded him of Cole, but instead he'd blithely gone along with it until he couldn't stand it any more. Connor didn't appreciate being lied to like this. Didn't appreciate seeing the angel he'd so carefully picked out smashed to bits, her serene face broken like a deviant during the revolution. Connor had a tendency to attribute human feelings to objects as it was, but Hank hadn't thought about that. He'd known Connor would see the angel, and he'd been so wrapped up in his own sadness he hadn't considered Connor's feelings on the matter.

Sumo whined, sensing Connor's conflict. The big dog padded over and Connor gently petted him. He felt a little better when he touched the dog's soft fur, but he shouldn't have to obtain comfort from a dog on Christmas Eve. Hank had promised they'd spend the holiday together, but he was at Jimmy's and the presents Connor had painstakingly wrapped and placed under the tree were probably in the trashcan along with it. Connor didn't want to go and look. He'd spent too much time picking out Hank's gifts, especially the big one. He'd thought Hank would love it. Dread rooted his body to the spot as he imagined what might have become of it. If Hank had been enraged, maybe—

No, Hank wouldn't destroy Connor's gift to him. He just _wouldn't_. 

Would he?

Connor thought about leaving, but where would he go? The Jericho androids had all gone their own ways in the wake of the revolution. Markus and North had their own lives, Simon and Josh too. They would probably welcome him into their homes, but he would be imposing. He was always an imposition, it seemed. Even Hank, his own lover, was drinking the night away rather than spend it with him.

Instead, he decided to stand up against the wall and go into stasis. He usually did it in the bed these days, but he was still angry, and not in the mood to imitate human norms for Hank's comfort. He didn't even leave stasis when the front door slammed shut. Hank staggered by him, barely seeming to notice his presence. He dropped his keys on the kitchen table, and Connor seethed. He'd driven while drunk again. How many conversations had they had about that now? How many discussions had they tabled about rehabilitation?

Connor was too angry to stay in stasis. He wanted to say something. He pulled himself back to full awareness and remotely turned on the lights.

"I see you've redecorated," he managed, doing his best to keep spite out of his voice.

"You fuckin' did it," Hank slurred. "The fuck were you thinkin'? What could have possibly possessed you to buy such a thing?"

"Where is it?" Connor asked.

"I made some phone calls and I returned it. What, did you think I'd destroy it?" Hank pursed his lips together the way he did when he was holding something back. "Just forget it. You probably didn't know any fuckin' better. That's what I told myself, anyway. Deviant or not, you still got a lot to learn about life. About human beings. About me."

"I don't understand," Connor said. "My calculations told me that you would be moved by the gift."

"Your calculations were wrong, alright?" Hank snapped. "Normal people, they—they talk about shit like this. They don't just go and do things and expect the other person to be okay with it. God, Connor, the whole concept of this is wrong!" Hank slumped down into a chair. "Some days I think I don't know you at all."

"Tell me what I did wrong," Connor pleaded. "Explain it to me."

"Human beings can't just be replaced, Connor," Hank said. "You can't bring a child android in here and tell me it's my boy." He sucked in a breath. "You say you wanna be treated like a living being, but you wrapped him up like an object and put him under the tree as a goddamn present."

"That's what he wanted, Hank. He wanted to surprise you. He changed his appearance to match the photo of Cole that you treasure. We thought it would make you happy." Connor's LED spun a frantic yellow, trying to figure out his crime. The evidence was all in line: Hank had said he would do anything to hold his son again. Here was a boy who looked just like Cole, who needed a home with loving parents. Hank needed a son, and the boy needed a father. It was logically sound. So why was Hank so angry?

Hank sighed. "How did you feel, when you saw the tree? The little android angel smashed to bits?"

"I was sad," Connor said. "I was angry. Its broken face reminded me of the android revolution."

"Imagine how I felt when the box under the tree giggled, and I tore off the wrapping to see the image of my son looking up at me. Only it's not my son, but an android imitating him. Cole is dead, and I felt like I saw a ghost. It was a sucker punch, Connor, to see someone I loved so much be so near and yet so far." Hank shook his head. "I thought I was gonna be sick, and I only got sicker as I thought about it. You found this kid somewhere, and you told him he could be loved if he pretended to be someone else. Is that what you wanted for him, to live out his life as a ghost, erasing all of his identity to pretend at being somebody else?"

"N-no!" Connor yelled. "It wasn't like that, Hank!"

"Then what was it like, Connor? Help me to understand, here."

"You miss having a child in your life. I met this child android roaming the streets, displaced after the destruction of Jericho, and I befriended him. I thought pretending to be Cole might endear you to him until you got to know him."

"This ain't a stray cat you're talkin' about, Connor! I'm not ready to raise another child! I thought we talked about my issues. I need to go to rehab long before I can think about building a family with you." Hank combed through his hair with his fingers, but it only served to make him look more wretched. "It's sweet that you wanna do something like that, but I'm not ready. I may never be ready." He broke eye contact with Connor. "I took the boy to North and explained what happened. She has friends who'll be happy to take care of him. If you wanna raise him, I'm sure you can work somethin' out with her."

Connor's eyes widened. "Does that mean I can bring him home?"

"No, Connor. That's not what I meant. I said if _you're_ ready, you go ahead, but I—I can't do it."

"So we'll wait," Connor said. "He can go to a foster home until we're ready—"

"I meant I can't do _this_. Us." Hank waved his hands. "You need someone who can give you what I need, and I'm not that person."

"Don't turn this around on me," Connor said. "It was a simple misunderstanding. I thought you'd be happy to be a father again. I never meant to hurt you."

"Sometimes that's just how things work out," Hank stated. "I'm hurtin', and I notice a lot that I seem to be hurtin' you, too. You keep trying to fix me, and I'm not sure that's the right thing to do. I'm never gonna get over Cole's death, Connor. It's gonna stick with me until my last breath. That's what losin' a child does to you, and no amount of rehab or therapy is gonna take that grief away from me. I'm still gonna get fucked up inside every time I see a kid that looks like him on the street. I'm still gonna throw up every time I get called to a vehicular homicide. I'm still gonna want a drink every time I see a happy family on television."

"I'm the same way, in a sense," Connor realized. "I have a strong emotional reaction to android suffering. I think—I think I wanted to adopt that child as a kind of atonement. My actions caused a lot of deviants to die, and I can never take that back, no matter how hard I try." He reached up to touch his face and realized it was wet, tears trickling down his cheeks unbidden. "When I saw that broken angel, it was like I was back outside the holding cell, watching Carlos Ortiz's android beat his head against the glass until it cracked like an egg."

"I'm sorry," Hank said. "I knew what I was doin' and I went right ahead and did it anyway. I was hurt and I lashed out. That's what I'm good at." The clock struck midnight, signaling Christmas Day and the end of their painful conversation.

"I should go." Connor turned away, knowing he'd never see Hank again once he walked out of the front door. His miscalculation had cost him everything. He should have opted for the photo frame instead, the one with all the little apertures for different photos, and he should have filled it with pictures of him and Hank together on the force. It would have been so easy to go for the safe bet, rather than risk stoking up old memories. He'd acted selfishly in the guise of helping Hank, and it had backfired.

But maybe he'd wanted to know if there was any chance Hank could open up again. This had been a test of sorts, and they'd both failed it miserably. They were just two people, too irrevocably damaged to make it work, and perhaps Connor should have been grateful he hadn't gotten the boy mixed up in their mess.

He waited on the front lawn for the autotaxi to show up, rain trickling down his face. He wandered back around to the side of the house and plucked the tiny angel from her place upon the topmost branch. He folded out her crumpled wings with tender care, brushing back her sodden hair. She may have been broken, but she was still beautiful.

"Connor." Connor jumped, startled, and turned around to see Hank standing in the alleyway behind him. Hank bowed his head, his hair falling into his eyes. "Did you make a wish?"

"A wish?"

"It's Christmas, and you're holding a fairy. Maybe she can grant you a wish."

"It's an angel." Connor thought about it and nodded. "I made a wish. I wished for—"

"It won't come true if you say it," Hank said. His blue eyes seemed to fill with tears, his hands trembling as he raised them to cup Connor's face. The autotaxi pulled up to the curb, honking its horn to let Connor know it had arrived. Connor lingered, looking up into Hank's expression to see if there was any chance his wish might come true.

"I'm sorry," Hank whispered. "It's been an awful first Christmas for you."

"It's been an even worse last Christmas for you," Connor whispered. He pocketed the angel before reaching around Hank's body. He slid the revolver out from Hank's waistband, tossing it aside. It landed in a puddle with a splash, and Hank grunted. "I won't let it end this way."

Connor dismissed the autocab and it drove away. They stood in silence, both soaked to the bone, a temperature warning telling Connor it was advisable to go inside for the sake of his biocomponents. Connor dismissed the warming popup, fixing Hank's gaze with his own. He wasn't leaving Hank here alone with his sorrow. Not tonight. Not ever again. He leaned in and captured Hank's lips with his own. Hank returned the kiss, then pulled away.

"Maybe there's a chance to save Christmas," Hank whispered. "If your wish is the same as mine, maybe we can still make this thing work." He reached into Connor's pocket and pulled out the angel, crumpled and broken. It was as if a dam burst as he buried his face in Connor's shoulder, sobbing as Connor wrapped his arms around the bigger man.

"I'm sorry," Connor whispered. "I didn't realize how much my actions hurt you."

"It's all right," Hank sniffed, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. "Maybe this was just what I needed. To express my feelings instead of bottling them up for a change." He managed a brave smile. "We'll go see that boy later on. I'd like to apologize to him, and I hate the thought of any kid spendin' Christmas alone."

"I'd like that." Connor smiled, stepping through the front door and closing it behind him.

Hank's expression turned solemn. "I meant what I said before, though. There's a chance I'll never be able to face havin' a child of my own again. If that's a dealbreaker for you, maybe we best part ways before we hurt each other more."

Connor shook his head. "No. It's not a dealbreaker. Spending time with you makes me happy, Hank."

"Good. Then come to bed. It's so late it's early. When we wake up, we can celebrate, okay? We don't need a tree. We can watch Christmas movies and put on old records. I'll call Ben later and see if he wants to come over. I've got a gag gift for him that's gonna make everyone at the DPD laugh when they hear about it. Fowler already said he'll drop by. If I get another passive-aggressive tie from him this year, I'm gonna flip." He managed to smile, and it looked more genuine this time.

Connor chuckled. He felt the last of his sorrow fade away, replaced with an old, familiar warmth. He'd wanted to make a family for Christmas, but perhaps he already had one, in Hank and the friends he'd made at the DPD. He thought about the boy, and realized he owed him an apology. He'd made promises he couldn't keep. He'd give him the angel later on, and maybe it would grant his Christmas wish, too, someday.


End file.
